Paint by Magic Read Online Free PDF Page B

Connor anymore because
I
am going to be home with them. You can earn your keep by helping us out in other ways. You can help the children with the gardening, if you like, or the housecleaning. We can talk about specific duties and chores later."
    "
Earn my keep?
" Ashleigh was frowning down at her plate now.
    "
Duties and chores
?" squawked Crystal. "
Housecleaning?
You've got to be kidding!"
    "Pam," said Dad in that tone I always think of as his heavy voice. "Pam, Pam. These are all big steps. Are you sure you've thought them through?"
    "And what about the TVs?" I mumbled.
    Crystal checked her watch.
    "Grant, I'm as sure as I can be that these will be changes for the better. Toward a simpler, happier way of life. A happier family." Mom looked at Dad while she spoke, but I knew she meant what she said for all of us at the table. She folded her napkin (a
cloth
napkin?) and laid it next to her plate. "Things have to change. And we're going to go cold turkey."
    "Turkey?" I blurted out, totally confused, because we were eating
chicken.
Even though they're sort of the same thing.
    "Cold turkey," repeated Mom. "That means just quitting. Just stopping—just like that." She snapped her fingers. "Like Mrs. White quit smoking. One day she smoked, then one day she'd stopped. No gradual cutting back, no weaning herself away from her addictive habit—just cold-turkey quitting."
    "Like, you think we're drug addicts?" snapped Crystal. I just sat back and listened, letting her fight this particular battle. Not because I didn't mind losing the TVs—I did. But because I had this gut feeling we were going to lose the battle. Lose the whole war, in fact.
    "TV is addictive," Mom replied calmly. "Things are going to change around here. The Rigoletti-Chase family is turning over a new leaf."
    When she said that, I pictured the big book, its pages turning slowly.
    "But
why
?" Crystal demanded urgently. "What's wrong with the way we are already?"
    Mom laughed, but it wasn't a cheerful sound.
    "We're
fine,
Pam," said Dad impatiently now. He pushed back his chair, leaving his salad uneaten, and stood up. "If you want to talk about getting into family counseling or something, I suppose we could. I mean, I sure don't see the need, but if it's what you want—"
    Mom sighed. "Every Thanksgiving," she said softly, "we eat our feast in a restaurant."
    I stared at her. What did that have to do with anything? My teacher, Ms. Rose, would have said that was a non sequitur. That's what she always tells kids when they just blurt out something that doesn't have anything to do with anything.
    "Yes," said Dad, nodding cautiously. "We all agree Hannigans is the nicest place to eat." He sat down again.
    Mom twisted her wedding ring on her finger. "There we are at a lovely, expensive restaurant, eating food some chef has prepared for the crowds, surrounded by people we don't know. I used to think it was just fine—a fine way to celebrate. But I've had time to think, and I want some changes around here. We never eat together as a family at home—never! Not even on Thanksgiving. We have this dining room and never use it. We're never home at the same time, Grant, except to sleep. I hardly even remember how to cook, and I hardly see my kids because other people are taking care of them..." She looked down at her hands and twisted her ring a few more times. The diamonds sparkled in the candlelight.
    Slowly she reached for her wineglass and lifted it. She held it out slightly, as if to make a toast, and she smiled, as if she were about to speak. We waited. And waited. We were all silent, staring at her. The whole house seemed so quiet. No TV babbling in the background. Just us, just breathing. All of us just like the family in the painting, frozen for all time.
    I could hear the clock ticking in the hallway. Mom still sat there, glass held aloft, smile fixed, not moving. But then I saw her terror-filled eyes—arid I realized that she
couldn't
move.
    A